


Breathing Water

by dweeball



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Intersex Character(s), M/M, Miscommunication, Mpreg, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Unplanned Pregnancy, gratuitous symbolism, i pick and choose the lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29481621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dweeball/pseuds/dweeball
Summary: After a drunken night at the Retching Netch, Glover gets some unexpected news from Raven Rock's one and only wood elf, Lori.Suddenly, Glover must learn to survive stray daggers, meddling siblings, and pushy noblewomen. He must learn what it means to love and be loved in return, while also coming to terms with wanting what he fears the most, or so that's what he convinced himself to believe.
Relationships: Glover Mallory/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't played Skyrim you might not know all the little details, but you'll understand the main story all the same! Enjoy. 
> 
> (Not beta read)

“You’re what?”

“Pregnant.”

Glover blinks, the sword he had been making is dipping into the water, his grip on the handle is limp. He didn’t want to pause in his work, now he’s forced. 

“Pregnant,” Lori says, he has his arms crossed behind his back, the night wind whips some of the curls out from behind his ear. He doesn’t look at Glover, and he shifts on his feet when Glover doesn’t reply, “Erm, that’s all.”

“Pregnant.”

“Ah, yes.”

Glover drops the sword, and the water splashes them both. Lori jumps when Glover swears. “It’s mine?”

At that, Lori shoots him a look, but quickly hides it by looking at the water instead, “Yes.”

“You’re sure.”

Lori's shoulders slouch, “Yes.”

They had lain together a month ago on one of Glover’s lower nights at the Retch. He hadn’t been that drunk in years and Lori had been so pretty and shy. When he woke up next to him in one of the retch’s smelling beds, he barely remembered anything, save for a few sounds Lori had made, which he remembered on his lonelier nights. He had slipped out shortly after waking up, and he vaguely remembers puking in the corner. 

He hadn’t taken any interest in Lori before, the one and only wood elf of Raven Rock. He was Mirri Severin’s friend and Vendil Severin’s servant. A tiny, jumpy little thing who Glover would sometimes watch run errands around Raven Rock from his forge. How someone so soft looking survived in Raven Rock Glover didn’t know, though Lori kept to himself and Mirri shot daggers at anyone who looked at him twice, sometimes real daggers.

After their night at the retch, Glover took more notice of him, but recently Lori had disappeared from the Raven Rock markets, that is until this night when Lori had surprised him while working late at the forge and Glover hadn't wanted to stop his work.

"Are you-" Glover stammers and rubs his hand over his head, he needs to shave it again, "Are you keeping it?"

This time Lori looks at him, and he keeps looking, "Yes. I am."

They look at each other over the steaming sword. Loris’s eyes are a deep brown, a very nice brown, "I came to tell you because I thought you ought to know. I don't expect any responsibility or even acknowledgment on your part. But I thought it your right, to know, to be given the choice."

It's the most Glover has ever heard him speak, but he ends with a shaky breath and begins to fidget again under Glover's stare. Glover can't reply. Usually, he's all charm, even when things are dire. The thieves guild taught him that much. He's especially charming with pretty things like Lori but there's something stuck in his throat, trapping his voice.

Finally, Lori looks away and tucks a curl back behind his ear, "Well, ah, goodbye."

And he all but flees, back down the street he came, leading to Severin manor. Glover watches him go until he's beyond street light.

Glover stands frozen still, numb to the wind rolling in waves off the sea. He blinks and like a vesper walks back into his home and locks the door, leaving the sword behind.

-

Glover wakes the next morning with a blinding headache, still in his blacksmith clothes, greasy and sure to have oil stains on his bed.

He had decided to get drunk. He had picked up his imported black briar mead, took a sip, and didn't stop sipping. For anything else, he would have gone to the Retch, but he's vowed to never go to the Retch again even if he's stuck with his hand for the rest of his life.

He's late opening up the shop, and he has orders to fill, but for the life of him, he can't get out of bed. Every time he tries he gets dizzy and he sees Lori’s cheeks go pink in the cold, he sees Lori in the corner of the retch, playing with his hands.

"By the nines," he groans, "What have you gotten yourself into this time, you bastard?"

But there are five orders of silver swords due tomorrow for the guard, and there's still some mead left.

So he gets up and doesn't worry about how he smells. He just downs a tankard of lukewarm mead and steps outside. He expects some waiting customers, or some members of the guard, or some beggars, he doesn't expect Mirri Severin sitting on his workbench. When he spots her, he figures he should have expected her the most.

If looks could kill, he'd finally have words with Nocturnal, when she notices him.

She jumps from her spot and her hood falls off, her long silver hair flows from it silky and clean, "Well look who it is. The man of the hour."

Glover sighs, the sun chose to make its rare appearance today, "You're going to badger me in my own shop Mirri."

"I'll badger you wherever I please, after what you've done."

Her voice is grating, "From what I remember, it was consensual."

"From what you-" she scoffs and rolls her eyes, "He's told me as much, though I can't understand why."

Glover has his back turned to her, readying the forge, a mistake he can hear Gallus berating him for, "I'm considered desirable around here."

A dagger flies past his ear and hits the wall of his house. Whoever decided teaching a noble's daughter knife throwing was a good idea he'll never know.

He sighs and turns around, "I'm not sure you're the one who should be throwing knives unless you've got something to tell me as well."

He was hoping to be charming, but he shuddered as soon as he said it. He's not one for ladies, but he doesn't trust himself drunk anymore. Who knows what he does when he’s that gone. 

Her glare hardens, "What he ever saw-"

But she stops herself, pursing her lips. Her anger seeps out of her, the forge is heating up beside him. When she turns to look at him again, she sucks the anger back up. She crosses her arms, “So what’s your choice?”

Glover’s head pounds, “My what?”

“He spoke to you last night,” she moves toward him, “What have you decided?”

He doesn’t say anything, she gets close enough to him that she has to crane her neck up to glare at him. He breathes, “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Haven’t-!” but she wrinkles her nose, “You’re drunk.”

And she pushes right past him, toward the dagger still stuck firmly in his wall. Glover has no doubt she could pierce a man's skull with an arm like that. Still, as she’s pulling the dagger out, he feels a need to defend himself, “I’m not.”

She frees the dagger and stumbles backward, “I can smell the mead.”

“I’m just hungover.”

She whirls at him, dagger already pointed, he tries not to take a step back, “Oh, even better! He told you he’s pregnant with your baby, and you decided to go get drunk. Did you go to the Retch then? Sire some more?”

Glover rubs at his head, “No, I didn’t. I stayed home.”

“And you didn’t think about it.” her voice chilled, suddenly, “You didn’t think about it all, did you. He told you and you forgot immediately.”

“I didn’t forget.” though the weaker parts of him wishes he did.

“Then what’s your answer?”

“I don’t have one!” and he yells, smashing his fist against the forge so that it rocks his head, “Will you leave me alone you cursed elf!”

The shock of his outburst quiets both of them. Mirri’s hackles rise and something slams shut on her face, all her anger warping into neutrality, and what's left of it going to Glover. 

The dagger hangs limply at her side, “You must make a choice.”

“It doesn’t sound like much of a choice.” he spits. 

“To me, it’s not,” she looks away for a second, at the road that leads to Severin Manor, “But to Lori it is.”

The name shocks him even more than the dagger and the yelling and Mirri all together. Mirri softens when she speaks it, and Glover has to shake away the feeling of hands gripping his neck. When she looks at him, she looks older, she looks like a true noble, “I told him not to tell you, but he insisted. He thought it was wrong, to keep it from you. And he-”

She cuts herself off again, something she’s not letting herself say, or something he isn’t allowed to hear. Glover doesn’t know.

“He doesn’t think you’ll make the choice he wants.”

Glover grits outs, the anger turning into fear then confusion then just ache, “And what choice does he want.”

She puts a hand up as if to wave away something, “He wants you to acknowledge the child, nothing more. He wants the child to be loved by you. That is the choice he wants you to make.”

“But he doesn’t think I’ll make it.”

“No.” she slides her dagger back into its sheath, “And he won’t force you.”

Glover has made a business out of reading between the lines, “But you will.”

“Yes.” she raises her head up high, “I will.”

He shakes his head, and turns away from her, picking up some coal to put in the forge, “And aren’t you afraid he’ll be resentful about that? Going against his wishes?”

“Of course, but there are worse things than Lori being mad at me.”

The fire roars, “Like?”

“As soon as my parents find out he’s pregnant, they’ll fire him, and he’ll be penniless without a home.”

She says it swiftly, and it strikes harder than one of her daggers. He burns his hand, jumping up in shock, “What?”

“I had to beg my father to take Lori on as a servant. He won’t accept the,” she pauses and swirls the words around her mouth like something rotten, “impropriety of his situation. Lori will tell him in a week's time. He has to.”

Because of the symptoms, because he’s- Glover should have stayed in bed, “He didn’t tell me that last night.”

“He thinks that's forcing you.”

He isn’t wrong, it is forcing Glover to take responsibility or be the kind of apathetic Glover always swore to himself he’d never be. “What about you?”

She narrows her eyes at him, “Pushing responsibility on others?”

“No! Damn it, I-” his hand hurts, “I’m just trying to understand, can’t you help him.”

And she slumps her shoulders, finally looking remorseful, and even somewhat defeated, “I’d do anything to help Lori, but if I leave too, it would be both of us out on the streets. At least this way I can bring him food, and other necessities, if it comes to-”

But then a guard is there, asking about a war ax, and Glover has to turn away from her. If he was better, he’d ignore the guard altogether, but he feels off-balanced and trapped. He’s glad for the excuse. He says he’ll be there in a moment, and when he turns back around Mirri is pushing past him without a word, if he could stand to look at her, he might call the look in her eyes fear. 

Of course, Glover has no other choice. But it takes him two days to make it, thinking of alternatives. He thinks of renting Lori a room at the Retch, but the Retch is hardly safe on the best of days, and it would drain Glover of all his coin. Geldis Sadri might mince the price if he learned of the situation, a moral old fool, but that would mean having to tell people. And that’s not something Glover wants to do.

So Glover has no other choice. He has to take Lori in. Glover has an extra room and enough coin for extra food. But that’s not the problem, the problem is that inviting Lori to stay with him, means he takes responsibility for why Lori has to stay with him in the first place. And Glover doesn’t know how to tell him that yes, Lori can live with him for as long as he needs, but Glover hasn’t decided yet on the other part of it. Does he want to be a father?

He is one, now, he supposes, but is he ready? Would Lori be better off without him? He doesn’t want to talk about names, clothes, and futures. He doesn’t want to watch Lori’s stomach swell, and he doesn’t want someone else in his space. He doesn’t want to watch Lori’s face turn pink by the fire and he doesn’t want him to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. He thinks almost every day, of how Lori looked in that corner, sneaking little glances at Glover, and tracing his palms when Glover whispered in his ear.

He writes Delvin. Mainly because he needs somewhere to put all his thoughts, but also because he’s pretty sure Delvin doesn’t even read his letters. Glover doesn’t want people to know. He’s only a little drunk when he sends it off. 

Still, he’s running out of time, which he’s reminded of by a few well-placed daggers. And in the end, it’s an easy choice.

So when he spots Lori carrying a crate across the markets, he goes after him.

“Should you be carrying that?”

Lori jumps and Glover curses when the crate falls to the ground, spewing books all over the ash. Lori immediately kneels to pick them up. Glover kneels with him. The books are all rare looking, and well-kept. Most likely for Cindiri Arano, who uses books as a status symbol. Glover places a couple in the crate but pauses to look at Lori. 

Lori has his head trained to the ground, pink probably with embarrassment. His brown curled hair falls out of the bun and frames his face. Glover follows the ridge of his nose, small and narrow, and watches his eyebrows scrunch.

Glover shakes himself out of it and picks up the rest of the books. Quickly grabbing the crate and standing up before Lori can even touch it. 

“Oh,” he mutters, picking at his nails, “You don’t have to. I can carry it just fine.”

“You shouldn’t be carrying stuff like this.”

Lori finally looks up at him, through his eyelashes, “You don’t have to do me favors just because I’m, well…”

He trails off, so Glover picks up for him, “I’ve been needing to talk to you anyway.”

Lori looks surprised and somewhere Glover feels awkward, standing there in the street being stared up by Lori. He feels restless. 

“Oh, well, then I suppose if you’d like to walk with me?”

Glover just nods and Lori leads the way. They walk quietly until they’re out of the busy markets, and taking a side road, closer to the sea. At the smell of salt, that's when Glover opens his mouth to speak, but Lori beats him to it. 

“Mirri told me what she did, she shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.” it's slow, and crashes over Glover likes the waves. Lori’s voice is smooth and light, even when he’s stuttering and nervous. Glover likes it, he thinks of the noise Lori had made.

“It’s fine,” Glover grits, “It needed to be said.”

“I just don’t want you to think-”

“I don’t think that.”

Glover is being forced, but it’s not Lori who's forcing him. Mirri maybe, but really it’s Glover. Glover is forcing himself, though it's not that hard, standing by Lori and watching him look out at the sea. They walk for a way more, before Lori stops and so does Glover, they turn to face each other. Glover doesn’t say anything for a while, but neither does Lori. Glover watches his mouth, watches him chew and lick at his lips before Glover realizes that Lori is waiting for him to say something. 

And now he doesn’t know what to say. It was an easy enough thing to say, but his voice is tight again. And his brain has decided to abandon him. He asks the divines for some inspiration. All they give him is, “You can’t be homeless.”

Lori jumps, looking up at him with big doe eyes that would probably be an asset at the thieves guild, “Mm, what?”

“Sorry, damn, I don’t know why,” he shifts the crate around, “You should come live with me.”

Lori sucks in a harsh breath, and his hair comes alive with a sudden gust of harsh wind. Glover quickly adds on, “If you want, of course.”

The wind dies down and Lori’s hair is left a mess. His cheeks have gone pink, and the tips of his ears are almost scarlet. They flinch at the breeze, “Oh, well, I-”

“I have another room, it’ll be all to yourself.”

“That’s fine, but-”

“And you don’t have to worry about working or the like, I won’t force you to do anything. It’s free of charge.”

The Glover stops, hoping he’s said what he’s had to say and said it well enough to keep a dagger out of his back. He watches Lori cross his arms behind his back, then look down at his feet, then away, then for a moment right back at Glover, “Why are you asking?”

The question surprises Glover. He thinks he’s been surprised more in a week than he ever was as a thief. Why? He thought the answer was obvious enough, like the choice, it’s the best option, “You can’t be homeless.”

Lori shifts his gaze away from him, and Glover can’t help to think that this time it's from something other than being shy, “Oh, alright then.”

“You can move in as soon as you like.”

“Hm. Okay, that sounds fine. Tomorrow?”

“Yes, that’s works,” Lori’s eyes move and he asks, “Oh! What happened to your hand?”

Glover stretches his fingers in the bandage he had made, “I burned it on my forge.”

Lori cocks his head, “I’ve never seen you burn yourself before?”

And before Glover can say anything else, Lori sweeps the crate from him and heaves to his chest stumbling a little, “You shouldn’t be carrying that!”

Lori smiles, a little smile, and ducks his head, “Missus Arano doesn’t like anyone else delivering her books.”

And then Lori is off, gliding down the docks until he takes a left and disappears. Glover watches him go, then turns away, rubbing his hands over his bandaid, where Lori’s fingers had brushed. 

-

When he had gotten back from helping Lori, he had some orders to fill. So he let himself get lost in the focused thrum of the forge, pounding and carving away until nightfall. It wasn’t until he closed up shop and walked inside, that he started to panic. 

He looked around the living room and saw nothing but grimy tankards and empty bottles of meat. He saw dust dirty fires and crusty kitchen pots. When he went upstairs, his room was as nice looking as a spider nest, and the spare room wasn’t much better. Filled with cobwebs, and when Glover went to touch the sheets, plums of dirt met his eyes in response. He couldn’t let Lori see his home like this, he couldn’t let Lori live this.

So Glover spent the whole night cleaning. He took all of the bed wear out to rinse in the ocean, and he swept every single floor. He scrubbed all the plots and plates until they were shining. He even dug out a Scathecraw as the sun was shining and set in an old pot he had shoved into storage. By the time he was done, the place was shining and Glover hadn’t gotten even a wink of sleep.

Still, he feels wide awake. He feels buzzed and even a little anxious. He hasn’t lived with anyone since the Thieves Guild, and even then his bed in the Cistern was a bubble, anyone who encroached on that space soon lost a tooth or two. Really he hadn’t lived with anyone since the days when he and Delvin were nothing more than street rats. But Glover’s never needed to live with anyone, he’s never wanted to. He doesn’t think anyone has ever been inside his home before, because it was Glover’s and no one else's. He had made it for himself. 

So he opens up the shop early, just to have something to do. And by the time he starts forging helmets, the weight of his sleepless night starts bearing down on him. He’s sore and tired and Lori didn’t say what time he’d come, only that he’d come. What if he doesn’t show up at all? What if this was all some cruel trick? Still, while Glover slams swords into shape he looks up at everyone who passes, waiting. 

But it’s not until late afternoon when Lori arrives. When Glover looks up from sharpening a newly crafted sword, he jumps at Lori’s sudden appearance and cuts his hand. He gives a sharp yell, and stands up, gripping his wrist. 

“Oh! I’m sorry! I-” Loris runs around to his side, to look at the hand, which doesn’t look deep enough of stitches, but it’s bleeding enough for some thick bandages, “Let me wrap it up for you! I shouldn’t have snuck up on you!”

It’s Glover's own fault, he had been lost in his head sharpening the tool, thinking of Lori and everything. And Lori’s footsteps are so light, that it would be impossible to hear him even if Lori did try to make noise. 

He’s so close that Glover can smell him, like ash yes, but a little like the sea too. Lori’s fingers lightly graze Glover’s wrist and he jumps back at the sudden contact. His head is swirling, he blames it on the blood loss, “I can wrap it myself, thank you.”

“Oh yes, of course.” and Lori ducks his head. Glover looks at him, he has a pack in one hand, a green book in the other. His hair is much neater than yesterday, and if Glover was a romantic he’d say he was glowing. Lori glances at him, and Glover feels himself heat up before he realizes that the blood is now steadily trickling down his arm. Swallowing, he leads the both of them inside. 

He opens the door for Lori despite the blood and has him stand in the living room, while he rummages around for his bandages. 

“Ah!” Lori says, “I have some in my pack if you need those.”

The blood is slowing, but the wound still stings. Glover nods minutely and waits for Lori to find them, and hand them over. When he does, Glover slumps on the nearest chair and uses his teeth to rip off a good length. Then he messily starts wrapping his hand, as tight as he can. Now both of his hands are bandaged. 

Glover can feel Lori’s eyes on him the whole time, but when he finishes and looks up, Lori turns away. He moves toward the cold fireplace and wipes his hand on the shelf. Glover is glad he dusted, “I brought you a gift.”

Glover watches his back, “A gift?”

“Ah, yes,” Lori turns back around, extending the book out toward him, “I told Missus Arano yesterday that it would be my last time delivering for her. She said I could pick a book from her library, so…”

He trails off, Glover takes the books, careful not to brush their fingers, “Bone?”

Lori immediately perks up, a grin taking over his face, “Yes! It’s about the creation of Bone Mold armor, told through some very fascinating stories!”

Glover flips through the pages, it’s not long, “Hm.”  
“It’s only part one, but well, Missus Arano said I could only take one.”

“And you took a book you’d thought I would like?”

“Well, it’s the least I could do.” Lori shrugs, shifting his gaze to the book in Glover’s hands, “I thought you’d be interested, considering you specialize in bone mold armor and such.”

Glover doesn’t want him to feel indebted, but he also doesn’t know what to say, “My thanks.”

When Lori smiles this time it’s not an eager grin or the small one he had shown at the docks. It’s crooked, shy, and soft. Glover asks, “Would you like to see your room?”

“Yes, I would like-” but he suddenly stops, the color draining from his face, dropping his pack. Glover stands just as Lori covers his mouth with both hands. Glover can only watch as Lori scurries to an empty pot and vomits into it. 

Glover doesn’t know if he should go to him, or if he should leave him alone, or leave the room altogether. Lori heaves up everything that's in his stomach, then heaves up nothing, and all Glover does is stand in the middle of the room like a damn Bard at a tavern. 

When Lori finishes, he slumps away from the pot, wiping at his mouth, “I’m so sorry.”

He sounds tired and defeated. His face is pink, probably from the puking, but also out of embarrassment for vomiting into Glover’s cooking pot. Glover swallows, “Stomach bug?”

Lori purses his lips, “No.”

Glover must be the stupidest person alive. ”Oh. Right.”

Lori had looked so nice he’d almost forgot, “Aphia said I’d start feeling nauseous soon. I’ve only puked a couple of times so far, but I’m starting to get sensitive to smells.”

“Right.” Glover doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t want to know things like that, “Your room?”

“What about the pot?”

“I have others.” he motions for Lori to follow him up the stairs, “Besides, it’s ash hopper meat tonight.”

Lori picks up his pack and follows him up, “Oh, well, that’s nice.”  
-

For the days following his arrival, Lori spends most of his time in his room. Only coming down for meals, though Glover thinks he wanders around while he’s in the shop. His books have been going missing.

Still, Glover sees him often enough. They talk lightly about the books they’re reading, and Lori perks up when Glover tells him how much he’s taken to Bone. Sometimes they’ll talk about the shop, and on rare occasions, they’ll laugh over some gossip Glover heard at the markets. Sometimes they don’t talk at all, sometimes Lori doesn’t make it through the meal because he has to run upstairs and puke into a bucket. They never talk about why Lori is puking, or why he’s even there. 

Lori has mentioned it in passing, about upcoming visits with Aphia, or just simply rubbing at his stomach. Glover never responds except with an occasional hum. He hasn’t decided how much he wants to know, or if he wants to know at all. But as the days pass and Lori starts puking at even the mention of fish, he realizes he has to know sooner or later.

Two weeks in, Mirri comes for a visit. Just at the end of lunch. She walks through the door without a knock, and Lori pauses with his spoon halfway up to his mouth. These days he’s only been able to have cabbage stew, which is little more than cabbage water with some carrots. But it’s better than nothing. 

Mirri cuts a glare at Glover, though thankfully her dagger remains sheathed, then somehow quickly turns almost sheepish, when she looks over at Lori. Mirri hasn’t visited at all since Lori has been here, and as Glover knows they’re mostly attached to the hip, which means Mirri is giving him his space. Most likely because Lori is still upset at her.

Neither of them speaks, so Glover says, “You could have knocked.”

Mirri spits immediately, “I’ll see you hanged!”

“Mirri,” breathes Lori, “Really?”

She turns sheepish again, “Sorry, Lori.”

Glover sets down his spoon, it probably would kill her to say sorry to him. Even before everything, he and Mirri hadn’t been on friendly terms. She stuck her nose up at him, especially when he was at the Retch or flirting with some pretty thing, and he always rolled his eyes at her nobility. Divines know they’ve gone past unfriendly terms, but now they can’t ignore each other anymore. And he knows Lori misses her, and he knows that Lori has to get out of the house anymore.

He pushes away from the table, “I’ll be at work.”

And he leaves, closing the door behind him, neither of them pay him any mind. 

It’s about an hour later when they come out, glued to each other's sides, Lori telling him that he’ll be out on a walk. 

-

Somehow, he didn’t even consider that inviting Lori to stay with him, he was also inviting Mirri to come over whenever she wanted. 

And it is, whenever she wants. Early morning, late at night, the middle of the day. Glover figures she got used to Lori always being around, just two doors down. And now that he’s moved out, there’s a big Lori shaped whole in her life. Glover doesn’t mind her as much as he thought he would, though. She mostly ignores his presence altogether. And she makes Lori laugh, a bright, twinkly thing, that Glover might compare to the stars if he was a poet. It’s more than Glover can do.

But it’s still a problem. Glover had begun to look forward to his meals with Lori, to their quiet conversations over stew. Lori had even begun to cook for him, and Lori’s cooking is not something Glover wants to share, considering how good it is. Even worse, with Mirri around it becomes harder to ignore what Glover has been trying not to think about.

“You’ll have to buy new clothes soon,” Mirri says, “We should go shopping after my lessons, soon.”

Lori must be about three months along now, though Glover hasn’t asked. He’s mainly doing guesswork, but it’s educated. Lori’s nausea has gotten worse and better every day. As long as there’s no fish, grease, apple, ash meat, or venison around, and as long as nothing is burnt, about to be burnt, raw, and medium cooked. Lori might get through the day only gagging. 

Lori sips at his cabbage stew, now upgraded with not just carrots, but some sea salts as well. Mirri says they settle the stomach, “Oh, I don’t know Mirri.”

“It’ll be fun, I’ll pay.”

“You just want to dress me up,” Lori giggles. Glover never makes him giggle. 

“And so what? You’re very pretty Lori, the right clothes you’d be stunning, everyone would be looking at you.”

Glover cuts in, “The clothes he has now are fine.”

Lori sets his eyes on his soup, Mirri cuts a glare at him, “And did he say that to you?”

“Mirri!”  
“No, Lori! Did you tell him that your clothes are fine?”

Glover gruffs, “He hasn’t said otherwise.”

“Oh, of course, of course, he hasn’t said otherwise-”

“What does that mean?”

“It means maybe-”

But then Lori is rushing upstairs to vomit, and the beginnings of their argument come to a grinding halt. Both of them watch helplessly as Lori stumbles up the stairs. Glover leans forward on the table and runs his hands over his face. But Mirri won’t let him catch a break, Her voice isn’t angry, but it’s not kind either. She whispers, “You haven’t been going to his healer’s appointments.”

Glover rubs at his eyes, “No.”

“Why?”

He can’t answer. Lori hadn’t asked him too, he hadn't asked to go. He hears Mirri sigh, and when she looks up, she just looks like she pities him, “Lori is very pretty you know, you’d do best to remember.”

He hasn’t forgotten. He remembers the sounds Lori had made, and he remembers Lori golden in the corner of a dark tavern. Now he remembers, Lori reading by the fire, and he remembers Lori wishing him a good day at work, and he remembers hearing Lori through a crack in his door, talking to his stomach about a book he had just read, and the way his voice carried through the house like water, until Glover had drowned in it, and fell asleep. 

Lori with his golden-brown hair, and dark eyes, and a nose that twitches. Lori, who Glover remembers just as he goes to bed, in the dark and cold, with his own hand, knowing there’s something much warmer and prettier just a couple of steps away. But he hasn’t decided, and he doesn’t want to know. 

Mirri speaks again, a whisper, sounding soft enough, that Glover can make out why she’s Lori’s best friend, “If it could have been anyone else.”

-

One morning, Glover catches him shirtless, brushing his hair. His window is open, facing the sea. Glover swallows following the lines of his back, he’s in nothing but his trousers. Glover immediately feels his face heat up and thinks of the sounds Lori had made, and sometimes the sounds he hears Lori make late at night when he thinks Glover is asleep.  
Glover thinks he’s pulled on himself enough to last a lifetime, at weaker moments he thinks of going to the Retch and finding some nameless sailor, but he can never bring himself to do it. He doesn’t know why, he has no real attachments. Really.

When he steps back from the door, a floorboard creaks. Lori immediately whirls around and squeaks. Glover starts stuttering and stops himself from covering his eyes. Lori jumps up from his bed, his hair only half brushed. His hair looks wild, his hair looks like how it did when Glover woke up in one of the smelly Retch beds. “Ah, sorry, I’m sorry.”

Lori comes to stand in the door, and Glover feels his eyes travel down his chest, and landing on his stomach. There’s a gentle swell there. Glover stops breathing. Lori is pink, staring down at his toes.

“Erm, did you want something?”

“Uh, yeah.” He rubs his hand over his head, he still needs a shave, “Do you want an early breakfast?”

“Oh, well,” he tugs at a curl, “I don’t have the best appetite right now.”

“Right.” Glover’s gaze is locked on the gentle swell, it’s just a curve, and could be waved away by some light bloating. But Glover knows. He knows. “How, uh, is that?”

Lori blinks up at him. Glover tries to look at his face and not at his chest, “Um, well, the nausea isn’t bad anymore. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Lori chews his lip, Glover tries not to focus on that, “And well, I’ve been a bit moodier, I suppose.”

Glover hadn’t noticed that “Moodier?”

“Yes, like,” Lori fiddles with his hands, “The other day I saw a little Netch while on my walk with Mirri, and I started to cry. And Mirri got so worried that she offered to carry me back home.”

“Why did you start to cry?”

Lori hesitates, “Oh, because of hormones I suppose.”

And the conversation stops there, for a moment, until Glover, without much thinking about blurts out, “When are your appointments with the healer?”

Lori’s shoulders raise, and he looks at him square. His hands drop limp at his sides, “What?”  
“You go to see Aphia Velothi every once in a while, right? When’s the next one?”

Lori quirks his lip up, just a little, “Oh, well they’re the third and fifth week of every month, Turdas, at noon. So the next one is-”

“In a couple of days.”

“Yes, ah, yes.”

“Okay.” Glover huffs, there’s a curl stuck to Lori’s cheek that he’d like to brush away, “I’ll come?”

Lori is barely holding back a grin, “You will?”

“If you want.”

“Oh, well, if you want to come then, of course, you can come.” he’s smiling, wide as Glover has ever seen him smile, “I’m glad that you’ve decided!”

Glover doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t smile back. He just reaches up gently and tucks the loose curl behind Lori’s ear, and if he lets his fingers linger on the sharp curve there, and if he looks at Lori a little while longer before going downstairs, then what of it?

-

Why he said he’d come, Glover doesn’t know. In truth, it was probably Lori’s chest that did it. Glover should know better than to get sucked into the prettiness of Lori. If he’d known better, he wouldn’t be in this particular situation.

“Ah, Glover Mallory finally takes a break from his forge does he?” is the first thing Aphia Velothi says when he comes in, she turns to Lori, “My Cresius is the same way, can’t get his nose out of the mine no matter what I do!”

She pats Glover on the shoulder on her way to a little side room. Lori takes a seat on a little elevated cot. They’re in the middle of the Caerellius and Velothi living room. The hearth is roaring and it makes Glover sweat. He raises an eyebrow to Lori, who merely turns his head. 

Aphia comes back in, some potions and books in her hands. When she does, Lori lays down. Glover sticks to the wall.

“Now, Lori, any updates?” 

“The nausea has gone down.”

“Perfect! Appetite?” Aphia places everything in her arms on an end table with a clatter. She seems very organized to Glover, though her means of being such are unconventional. 

“Ah, not quite there.”

“That’s fine, you’ll be having other _appetites _soon I suspect.” and she winks at Glover, who refuses to blush at an old Dunmer woman. Lori’s ears go scarlet. “Now if you’ll lift up your shirt please.”__

____

____

Glover all but tunes out this part and keeps his eyes trained on Lori. Aphia makes light conversation, asks some questions, and Lori answers dutifully. Sometimes he even laughs, sometimes he squirms, like when Aphia presses her cold hand to his stomach. 

Eventually, she gives him some potions, tells him when to take them, and then says, “And one last thing,”

“Hm?”

Her eyes twinkle, “Would you like to hear the heartbeat?”

Glover starts focusing then, it seems like everything in Raven Rock starts to focus then, on the little room, and the way Lori gasps, “This early?”

“You’re three months along, Lori, this is about the time.”

Lori swallows, his shirt still hiked up. He whispers, “I’d love to.”

And Aphia grins, “It’ll be a spell, and you won’t be able to hear it for long, mind.”

“That’s just fine.” his voice sounds watery, breathless.

Aphia, for the first time during the whole appointment, “You’ll have to come closer if you want to hear it properly.”

Glover shoots up from the wall, “Uh-”

Aphia shoots him a stern look, and Lori turns to grin at him, so he has no other choice. He kneels down beside Lori on the bed, trying not to shake in his boots. He shouldn’t have come, he should have stayed at the forge, and not missed a day of work for this. Lori takes his hand and Glover breathes, for a second. 

“You’ll feel a slight tingling sensation for just a second or two,” Aphia explains, rubbing some oil on her hands, “Ready?”

Lori only nods. Aphia presses her palm flat on his bare stomach. His stomach has swelled since the last time he saw it, it grows bigger every day it seems. That’s Glover’s last thought, before Aphia’s hand glows yellow, and golden tendril swirl around them, thrumming. The tendrils circle them and darken the rest of the room. They reflect in Lori’s eyes and get wrapped in his hair, and they're beating a steady rhythm. And the rhythm fills up Glover’s ears.

It’s the heartbeat. The heartbeat of his child. It’s small and quiet, and barely there, but when Glover closes his eyes, the noise surrounds him.

When he opens them again, the tendrils are gone, and so is the heartbeat. He’s left with Lori’s warm hand and Lori’s tears, racing down his cheeks. He smiles up at Aphia, “Thank you, I, thank you.”

Glover pulls his hand away. Shortly after they leave. Glover is glad to be out of there. 

But Lori is alive with energy, the heartbeat of the child must have added to his own he says, “I can’t believe we can hear the heartbeat! And did you hear what Aphia said? He’ll be growing fingernails soon.”

Glover almost trips, “You know the gender?”

Lori laughs, almost as bright as the glow of Aphia’s magic, “Oh, no! We’ll not know that for a few month’s time! But I don’t like saying it, so I bounce around, sometimes he, sometimes she, sometimes they. I don’t think it really matters, it’s their choice of course.”

“Their choice.”

“Oh yes, us elves don’t care much for gender though…” Lori trails off excited, they’re on the dock now, on their way back to the forge. The waves crash rough against the shore, but there’s no wind today, “I have a couple of names in mind if you would like-”

“Lori.” and it’s harsh even to Glover’s ears, “Be quiet for a second.”

Lori stops midstep and quiets immediately. Glover goes ahead but stops and sighs, “I’m sorry.”

He can hear Lori swallow back some tears, “I just thought-”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

For a while, only the ocean fills their ears and the leftover heartbeat. Lori finally mutters, “Oh, oh, okay, then, okay. Well, I should be off to see Mirri now.”

Glover doesn’t turn around when Lori leaves, he just listens to his footsteps along the dock then disappear.  
Lori isn’t there for dinner, and he comes home late and leaves early. That morning Glover wakes up to a dagger carved into his workbench. 

-

Lori avoids him for days after. Mirri unsheaths her dagger whenever she so much as realizes he exists. Glover feels miserable, and all he can eat is cabbage water because Lori’s stomach is still sensitive. But Lori doesn’t join him for meals at all, and he would almost take Mirri’s jabbering if it meant getting Lori back at his table. 

Lori has been out all day, and it's nightfall when there’s a knock on the door. Glover jumps up, expecting Lori, though he shouldn’t feel the need to knock. It could Mirri coming to cut his jewels off, though she doesn’t knock at all. 

He opens the door and it’s neither. It’s Cindiri Arano. 

“A bit slow opening up the door are we?” and she sticks up her nose and steps right inside. What it is with dunmer women and manners he’ll never know. It must have something to do with Glover, Nord women treated him much the same way back in Riften, though they were a little less snobby about it. 

Cindiri looks a little out of place, wearing fine green robes, and a large fur cloak that probably costs more than the whole house she’s standing in. She inspects the hearth, and the cabbage stew Glover had been picking at. 

When she turns to look at Glover feeling a little overwhelmed at the door, the sneer she has for him may just be her usual expression, “Where’s Lori then?”

“Lori?”

“Yes, Lori.”

Glover huffs, when did everything always become about Lori, “He’s not here.”

“He’s not here?” she trills, “Then where is he?”

Glover doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know where Lori is, his gut is telling him that it would be a death sentence, “Out.”

“Out?”

“Yes.” in the thieves guild, they used to tease him for being a terrible liar. Glover said as long as he didn’t get caught, he’d never have to lie. “Uh, what can I do for you Cindiri?”

“Cindiri!” she all but screams, Glover winces, “Really, you’re calling the wife to the second counselor by her first name?”

“Well-”

She puts her hand up, “Stop. I’ve not come here to chat with you. When will Lori return?”

“He’ll-”

“Enough! It’s clear to me that you have no idea where he is!” she rolls her eyes, moving around the house, “Of all the people in this town I would have never expected someone as intelligent as Lori to shackle himself to you, but ah, woe is the heart I suppose. One can not deny a blacksmith's arms.”

Glover can only give her a deadpan look, he has no idea what she’s talking about. Her accent is strict and tight, like someone who's too used to speaking their own language. It’s hard for Glover to follow, especially while she titters around, inspecting every corner, dust bunny, and sliver of wood, “No matter. I need to speak with Lori, and the Severin girl never seems to have enough time to talk to me. So, unfortunately, you’re my best option. You’ll tell him I came?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Of course you will,” then she pushes past him, but stops right at the door. Swallowing down something nasty, he opens it for her, “Goodnight.”

Then she leaves, just like that. Glover chooses to forget that she ever showed up in the first place. But he can’t quite forget why she showed up.

He doesn’t know where Lori is, and for some reason, that irks him. Lori doesn’t owe him any explanations of where he goes, and what he does. Maybe it's how they’ve left things, at an awkward standstill when they had been bordering on friendship. Glover has gotten too used to having someone to eat with. 

So he goes out looking and hopes he doesn’t have to ask Mirri because then he’ll have to worry about more than just bandaging his hands. 

He doesn’t have to look far, something draws him around the back of his house, and out to the docks. And that’s where he finds him, perched on rocks, his knees curled toward his chest, looking out to the sea. 

Glover stops short, unsure where to go from there. He had expected a longer time to think about it before he found him, but Lori didn’t travel far. Is this where he’d been all day. He has a thick blue cloak slung over his shoulder shielding him from the wind, though he hardly seems to mind it. Glover recognizes the cloak as a gift Mirri had brought him, during one of their lunches.  
Glover doesn’t want to spook him and risk Lori falling into the water, he makes his footsteps loud enough so that Lori turns his head to see who's approaching. When Lori sees him, he turns to look at his knees and tightens the cloak over his shoulders. 

When Glover gets close enough he says, “Cindiri Arano just came by.”

Lori immediately perks up his head, “She did? Why?”

“She wouldn’t say,” Glover shrugs, leaning on the rock, under Lori’s feet, “Though she had a lot of other things to say.”

“Oh, sorry about her. Missus Arano tends to be-”

“A snob?”

“Ah, overwhelming,” Lori says, “At least when I first meet her.”

“Well, hopefully, that's the last time I meet her.”

Lori laughs a little, it's a nice sound, “She’ll be back, I’m afraid. She’s stubborn like that. It’s what makes her such a good wife to the second counselor.”

Glover hums in agreement, he doesn’t really want to talk about Cindiri Arano. When he looks up at Lori, he finds his gaze is met, “You haven’t been around a lot lately.”

Lori flits his eyes around until they land back out on the horizon, “I’ve been busy, I suppose.”

“Busy with what?”

Lori doesn’t answer, just looks out on the sea until some wind whips his hair from his forehead. Glover says, “I’m not so sure you should be busy, considering-”

“Considering what?” Lori’s sudden gaze makes him drop his hands. 

He turns to his shoes, “Considering the chill.”

“Yes, I suppose, it's cold.” 

But Lori doesn’t make any moves to come from the rock, he just turns his head back to the sea. There’s a lantern on a post above his head, it sways and moves with wind casting shadows on his face and turns Lori’s hair into gold. It reminds him too much of the golden tendrils Aphia had shown them, of the heartbeat, so Glover moves his head away from his hair and follows the lines of his neck. “You should come and eat dinner.”

“I will later.”

“It’ll be cold later.”

“Maybe.” Lori trails off, he sounds like he isn’t even speaking to Glover at all.

Glover huffs, “Lori, you need to come home.”

Finally, Lori blinks down at him, “Oh, you’ve never called it that before.”

Glover tries not to grimace, “So will you?”

Lori smiles a little, “I always wanted children you know.”

It is said with such swift softness, that it almost feels like poison. Glover can still hear the heartbeat, and he can still see Lori, pink, in the corner of a tavern that was too warm, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Glover. I won’t force you. It’s your choice.” he turns his head back out to the sea, “You can change your mind at any time.”

“But you can’t.”

“I won’t.”

And just as he says it, there’s such a gust of wind that blows all of Lori’s hair out of his messy bun, and though he reaches his palm to shield himself from it, his hair flows freely, and he tilts a little on the rock. The light in the lantern goes out, and Glover stumbles over himself just to be there in case Lori does fall. 

But he doesn’t and the wind stops. Lori shivers, cold after it’s gone. Glover doesn’t have anything left to say, so he reaches his hand up to Lori, and Lori takes it. Glover helps Lori down with their hands gripped tight, and a hand on Lori’s waist. How he got up there, Glover doesn’t know but Bosmer especially, are known to be a nimble bunch. 

When Lori is safe to the ground, he says, “You can let go of me now, Glover, I got down just fine.”

After that, Lori’s stomach begins to grow a lot faster. No longer a gentle swell that Glover can pretend is simply weight gain, but rather something that causes Lori to wear looser shirts, revealing more skin, and making him look a lot smaller. Sometimes, at night, Glover dreams of Lori wearing one of his own shirts, but that’s neither here nor there. Lori’s stomach isn’t as sensitive anymore.

It’s not just Lori’s stomach that’s changing, but their relationship as well. They still have quiet conversations at dinner, sometimes louder ones when Mirri is visiting, but now they take their conversations by the fire, and early in the mornings. When the shop is particularly slow, Lori comes out and sits with him while Glover works. Talking about menial things, while Glover tries not to look at him rubbing his hands over the swell of his stomach. The first time he had done it, Glover had dropped his hammer on his foot. He’d let out a string of curses, that had Lori laughing, which made the pain go away somewhat. 

They don’t always talk, sometimes they sit and read quietly together. Lori has taken up with The Poison Song, and Glover had the second volume of Bone shipped out to him, which made Lori smile wide, and eager. 

It's a night by the fire, stomachs full of venison, that Glover asks, “So did you come to Raven Rock to be a servant?”

Lori seems to let the gruffness of the question wash over him, he flips a page in his book, “Oh no.”

“What brought you then?” Glover doesn’t know why he’s asking, but he has always been curious. Lori is the only wood elf in all of Raven Rock, he doesn’t think he’s the only one to wonder.

“Oh, well, my parents sent me off on a ship here, when I was a child.” Lori flips another page, “They were after the mine.”

“Wasn’t it dried up by then?”

“Oh, well, it dried up shortly after I got here, actually.” Lori’s eyes linger on a page, but he’s not reading it anymore, “I wrote to them, to tell them of our poor luck. Then I met Mirri, and she got me a job at the Severin manor.”

“And your parents.”

“Oh, well,” he trails off, fiddling with the corner of a page, “They never came. Later, I found out that their ship had sunk, on their way here.”

Glover doesn’t have anything to say to that, he wants to take Lori’s hand, but with the watery look in his eye, he’s not sure it would be welcome. Lori turns away from him, and Glover watches as he rubs at his eyes. When he turns back around he asks, “What about you?”

“What?”

“Did you come to Raven Rock just to be a blacksmith?” his smile is crooked, and probably just a little forced.

“Yes, actually.” Glover shrugs, turning to look at the fire, “I wanted out of Skyrim, and I had particular talents that I knew Raven Rock would appreciate.”

“Bonemold Armour?”

“Yeah.” Among other things. Glover heard that Raven Rock was a place that more than welcomed thieves and crooks. When he got here, he lived on thieving and fencing for a while, but he got tired of it soon enough. Then he heard someone grumbling about how Raven Rock didn’t have any good blacksmiths and thought he’d try a hand at some of his other talents. 

He hears Lori close his book, “Where were you in Skyrim?”

Glover watches the fire flicker, “Riften.”

“Oh, I heard that’s very pretty especially during Frost Fall!”

“Yeah, it had its moments, but you get sick of it after a while,” Glover shrugs his shoulder, “Can’t say much for the leadership, either.”

Glover wonders what Lori would think about his past, he doesn’t want to find out. “My brother still lives there.”

“You have a brother? I didn’t know.”

“I don’t hear much from him.”

“You’re lucky though, having siblings all around the world like that! You’ll have someone anywhere you go.”

“I only have the one,” Glover turns to him, “And a sister, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Let’s just say my Father got around.”

Lori throws his head back and laughs. Glover grins watching him. He could get used to this, making Lori laugh by the fire. “Well, I’m glad you chose Raven Rock, then.”

Glover’s grin falters a little, but only because he suddenly feels too warm. Lori goes back to reading his book like he hadn’t said anything at all  
-  
His hand is brushing Lori’s at the dinner table, while Lori and Mirri speak of the new servant Drovas Relvi, who makes atrocious tea. 

“Really, it's mostly water. Not like the tea you used to make.”

Lori laughs, their pinkies brush, “I never use to make you tea, Mirri.”

“You did on occasion. And what does that matter? Drovas just doesn’t compare.”

Lori beams at the praise. Mirri doesn’t talk about new clothes, or Lori’s growing stomach anymore. Glover thinks Lori might have told her not to bring it up when Glover is around. Glover takes a bite of his sweet-tart. He’s not a fan, but Lori likes them, so sometimes Glover goes to the extra effort of buying them.

“Does your father like him?”

“Father thinks he’s a bumbling fool, but he thinks it would be in bad taste to fire someone so soon.”

Lori laughs again, something about it fills Glover with dread, but he can’t move his hand away. It’s stuck to the table, beside Lori’s. “What do you think?”

Glover blinks, “Huh?”

He hadn’t realized they were talking to him. Mirri rolls her eyes, “I asked what you thought about having dinner here, to celebrate First Planting.”

“That's not for weeks.”

“It’s good to plan.”

“And since when do you care what I think.”

“I don’t.” and she gives him a burning glare. Something brushes his knuckles and when he looks down he sees Lori’s fingers on top of his own. 

“I thought it would be nice,” he mumbles, shy, “I’ve never been able to celebrate First Planting before.”

With his other hand, Glover reaches for his tankard. It’s filled with water nothing more, since Lori came he hasn’t had a sip of mead. When did he decide to stop drinking mead?

“I thought that was a holiday for farmers,” he takes a gulp, “And Nords.”

Mirri scoffs, “Of course a Nord would think that, but it's not just about farming. It’s about fresh beginnings.”

Glover chokes on his water. He doesn’t like her implication. Lori thumps his back. Their hands aren’t touching anymore. “We don’t have to celebrate it if you don’t want to Glover, I only thought-”

“If you want to celebrate it, Lori we should,” Mirri cuts in, ever so gentle, “This isn’t just to celebrate fresh beginnings, but that by the next one-well and you weren’t able to celebrate Heart’s Day, and you were too sick for South Winds Prayer!”

Glover had never paid attention to holidays before and why should he now? Because he no longer lives alone. Something cold sinks to his stomach. South Winds Prayer, and Hearts Day, and the First Planting, he doesn’t care for any of it. It’s not something people like him do, it’s not something he’s ever wanted to do. Since when did he stop drinking mead?

“I don’t want to impose, really,” Lori says, “And it would be just the three of us, so what the difference.”

“We could make a feast!”

“Oh, I’m not sure if my appetite will be back by then.”

Aphia had said he’d have other appetites. Glover and his hand have been trying to figure out exactly what she meant. It's his best distraction from the heartbeat, the heartbeat, and Lori. 

“It will be back by then. Aphia said as much. We could invite her and old Crescius if you’d like.”

“Do you think they’d come?”

“I think so if Aphia gets Crescius away from the mines long enough.”

They both laugh at that. Elves all have such twinkly laughs it doesn’t matter what kind. Still, Glover thinks he could pick Lori’s laugh out of a crowd of hundreds of laughing elves. He’d find him easy, because he likes making Lori laugh. He likes the way Lori throws his head back sometimes, or hides behind his hand, or just lets it out in short, soft breaths.

Glover stands suddenly, knocking his tankard over and spilling water all over Mirri. Mirri gives a sharp gasp, and they both look startled. Lori even looks concerned. Maybe Glover looks concerned, he hates being concerned over anything. He’s not going to be concerned about Lori, of all people. He rubs his hand over his head, he needs a shave, “I’m going to the Retch.”

And before Mirri can start yapping, he grabs a coin purse from the table and walks out the door.  
-  
Of course, in classic Mallory fashion, he gets drunk quickly and loudly. He falls into conversation with some old miners, all talking about the good old days. By the time he gets to his fourth drink, there’s a group of Redoran Guard in the corner singing Jornibret's Last Dance.

_Every winter season  
Except for the reason  
Of one war or another  
(Really quite a bother),  
The Queen of Rimmen and her consort  
Request their vassals come and cavort.  
On each and every ball,  
The first man at the hall  
Is Lord Ogin Jornibret of Gaer  
The Curse of all the Maidens Fair!_

If Glover wasn’t so drunk, he’d be mad at all of their noise. The miners say to him, “Haven’t seen you around for awhile Glover? Works been busy?”

Glover slurs, “Aye. You could say that, what with the state of the place.”

“Right, swords and armor always need to be made, no matter what's going on in the world.”

And they jabber on and on while Glover downs what's left of his fourth drink, and staggers over to the bar, where Geldris is pouring some Sujamma. Glover takes the glass from him and downs it in one go. 

_Oh, dear ladies, beware.  
Dearest, dearest ladies, take care.  
Though he's a very handsome man,  
If you dare to take his handsome hand,  
The nasty little spell will be cast  
And your first dance with him will be the last._

Geldris said, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough Glover?”

Glover tosses some coin at him, “No, I don’t think that Geldris, why?”

Geldris glares at him, “Think you’d learn your lesson by now.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means, I think you’ve got some more important things to spend your coin on.”

“Shove off it, you self-righteous little prick,” Glover sneers, “I’m paying you aren’t I?”

“You’re not paying me enough. I won’t be selling you anymore.”

_Oh, dear fellows, explain.  
Brothers, can you help make it plain:  
The man's been doing this for years,  
Leaving maidens fair in tears  
Before the final tune's been blast.  
And her first dance with him will be the last._

Glover grabs him by the hem of his tunic and yanks him over the bar, “Listen, if I pay you to give me damn rat poison, you’ll give it to me alright!”

And he throws him back. Geldris doesn’t look half as afraid as Glover would like him to. He just stares at him then leans down and grabs a fresh tankard and fills it with what looks like ale. Glover watches him the whole time, head-spinning, making sure he doesn’t water it down. 

When Geldris hands it to him he mutters something that Glover can’t quite pick up, “anyone else…”

_Lord Ogin Jornibret of Gaer  
Watched the ladies dance on air  
The loveliest in the realm.  
A fellow in a [sic] ursine-hide helm  
Said, "The Queen of Rimmen and her consort  
Have put together quite a sport.  
Which lady fair do you prefer?"  
Lord Jornibret pointed, "Her.  
See that bosom, bob and weave.  
Well-suited for me to love and leave."_

_Glover stumbles back over to his corner, but the miners have disappeared. All the better, he likes being alone. He tries not to look at a certain corner, but when he loses himself that's where he finds his eyes are trained. He drinks his ale, but barely tastes it. He thinks Geldris must have found a way to water it down._

_The man in the mask of a bear  
had left the Lord of Gaer  
Before the ladies' dance was ending.  
Then a trumpet sounded, portending  
That the Queen of Rimmen and her consort  
Called for the men to come to court.  
Disdainful, passing over all the rest,  
Ogin approached she of bobbing breast.  
She was rejected, saved a life of woe,  
For a new maiden as fair as snow._

The Redoran Guard are loud and fumbling over the words. Glover thinks he might fall asleep on the table, he’s not sure he can get himself to move. He wants to move. Where does he want to move? He wants the Redoran Guard to sing louder. 

“Well, long time no see,” someone drawls above him, and when he looks up, he sees Mogrul’s ugly face. Slitter is a few steps behind him. Mogrul looks smug. 

“Ah, it's Raven Rock’s one and only ugly Orc.”

The smug look goes away quickly. 

_At the first note of the band,  
The beauty took Ogin's hand.  
She complimented his stately carriage  
Dancing to the tune about the marriage  
Of the Queen of Rimmen and her consort.  
It is very difficult indeed to comport  
With grace, neither falling nor flailing,  
Wearing ornate hide and leather mailing  
Dancing light as the sweetest of dreams  
Without a single squeak of the seams._

Mogrul bellows over him, “I wouldn’t be so mouthy for a man in your position.”

“I’d disagree,” Glover finishes his drink, “This is the best time to be mouthy. It’s when I’m the bravest.”

“Sell your mind for a little courage, hm?” Mogrul grunts, “There are worse debts to pay.”

Glover stands, stumbling, leaning on the table, “As I’m sure you would know, friend. I’m sure you’d know.”

“I’d watch yourself, Mallory, you’ve got payments now you might now want to settle.”

Dizzy as he is, he still spies Gedris looking at their corner, wary as ever. Glover pushes past Mogrul, patting him on the shoulder, “I guess you’re right today, then, big lad.”

_The rhythms rose and fell  
No one dancing could excel  
With masculine grace and syncopation,  
Lord Jornibret even drew admiration  
From the Queen of Rimmen and her consort.  
Like a beauteous vessel pulling into port,  
He silently slid, belying the leather's weight.  
She whispered girlishly, "The hour is late,  
But I've never seen such grace in hide armor."  
It 'twas a pity he knew he had to harm her._

He makes it but a few steps away, before Mogrul shouts, “Wonder what your Bosmer would think of your illustrious past, hm, Mallory? Wonder if he’d like to know.”

Glover stops in his tracks, he feels the world shift. The drunkenness goes away, but something worse takes its place. Mogrul doesn’t sense it, everything else does. Even the singing gets quieter, “Say, here’s an idea, we should tell him for Mallory. Tell him about his days in Riften, and what exactly he was doing over there. See if the little thing has such a shine for him then.”

Glover grips his fists tight, something dark is forming at the corner of his eyes.

“Slitter and I can go knock on his door, or maybe catch him when he’s out on the streets. I’ll tell him a thing or two, and maybe then teach him a thing or two. He’s probably glowing, wouldn’t you say Slitter? Right about now?”

Glover moves before anyone can react. He pushes Slitter into the tables and takes his aim. 

_It 'twas a pity he knew he had to harm her._

-

Slitter all but drags him through the ash. He can’t see through one of his eyes, it’s either blinded by blood or swollen or both. Glover’s ribs ache and his mouth tastes like metal. His head is throbbing. 

Slitter twists at Glover’s arm, the one slung over his shoulder, the one that Slitter had forced there, “Mogrul to take you out and relieve you of a molar or too.”

Glover still has all his teeth. Slitter had just scraped him from the floor of the tavern, walked them outside, and hadn’t stopped walking. 

“I’ve gotta get you home quick before he gets suspicious so stop dragging your feet would you?”

Glover doesn’t say anything but tries to keep pace with Slitter. Who's going so fast he’s almost running. Glover trips over himself more than once. “I answer to Mogrul, but he crossed a line with that one, everyone thinks so. Just stay out of the Retch for a while, and not much more will happen. Seems easy enough?”

Glover isn’t sure where they are, he has trouble focusing, he’s out of breath, “Can’t say I blame you really, but threats like those are all air. You shoulda just walked away, I’d say.”

And Slitter doesn’t speak for the rest of their walk. A couple of times he has to pause when Glover stumbles, or to heave Glover back up. Glover isn’t sober, he can’t feel the pain, but he can feel the throbs of it. When he sees the lights of his forge he asks, “Why didna take my teeth?”

Slitter unceremoniously drops him on the workbench, “A favor to Lori?”

Glover tries his best to glare, “Whydah owe Lori?”

Slitter brushes something off his shoulder, probably some flakes of blood, “I don’t owe him nothin’.”

But Slitter hands him a tissue that feels a little grimy, but so does Glover, “How das dat song end?”

“Huh?”

“The one the...Glover uses the back of his hand to wipe the blood caked under his nose, “Da guard was singin’.”

“Uh, I don’t remember the words. But the guy with the bear mask turns out to be a lovely little lass. The lass leaves Jornibret on the dance floor, givin’ Jornibret a taste of his own medicine, I think. You know, heartbroken, and alone, unrequited love and all that. Why?”

Glover just waves him off in answer, slumping on his workbench. Slitter shrugs, “Well clean yourself up before going into Lori would ya? And don’t linger out here, pretty sure an ash storm is shaping up.”

And Glover listens to Slitters footsteps fade away, before opening his eyes and looking around. There are only a few lanterns lit tonight, too windy, Glover supposed. It's cold.  
Glover shivers and stumbles through his door. Tripping over himself, making sure that it’s locked. 

His house is dark, and clean, with old red embers in the fire. Glover has to lean on a chair or too and for the world to stop swirling. When it does he almost crawls up the stairs, feeling like he’s going in circles all the way up. When he reaches the top, his knees buckle and he falls into the wall. The whole house creaks with him, he groans, then laughs a little. His chest hurts with every breath. He thinks he got a couple of good hits in until Slitter grabbed him and Morgrul started using that infamous Orc strength. He looked funny, a great big angry Orc, in fine robes. 

Glover is halfway to the floor, and he thinks if he falls down now he won’t be getting up. So he glides his hands over the walls to get to his room. 

But when he finally gets there, the hurt starts settling in, mostly the ache of it. He doesn’t want to sleep in his cold bed and listen to the ash storm come in. Numbly, he pushes away from his room, leaving it lonely and dark. He crosses the hall and creaks open Lori’s door. 

The moons fill up his room. Lori has his window open just a crack so that Glover can smell the sea plain. A light wind rustles at the curtains. Lori is curled up on one side of the bed, waiting for him, leaving a whole space open. 

Groggily, Glover rips off his boots, stumbling into dressers and chests. When Glover has both boots off, Lori hasn’t stirred. A heavy sleeper, Lori is, doesn’t move if Glover comes or if he goes. 

Glover goes to the edge of the bed and pulls off his shirt. His ribs scream bloody murder at him, but his shirt is too constricting, and it’s hard to breathe in it. He wants to feel Lori’s warmth plain, he wants Lori to absorb his ache, or at least make it easier to ignore.

When Glover finally lays down, the bed doesn’t creak, and Lori doesn’t jump. Everything still, the world stops spinning. Glover nuzzles his nose to Lori’s neck, and wraps an arm around his waist, careful of the swell, there. He glides his hand over it. 

-

“Glover?” something pushes at his shoulder, “Glover?”

When he opens his eyes, he can’t remember being in this much pain from the waist up. Not even after sparring with Vex. Everything hurts. Lori’s hand grazes his neck, he’s already out of bed. The room isn’t filled with moonlight anymore, but rather a ghostly gray. Still, it makes Lori no less pretty, Glover was drunk last night, with a severe head injury, but he could have sworn, Lori had glowed in the moonslight last night, asleep in bed. 

Lori’s leaning over him, “Glover? Why are you in my bed?”

That’s a good question, one Glover doesn’t want to answer, “I don’t remember.”

Lori purses his lips, “Oh, Glover.”

And there’s no pity there, or regret, just softness. Glover closes his eyes again, pity would be better. The light is too bright, gray as it is. Lori brushes his hands along Glover’s cheek. It stings, “You, ah, got blood on my pillow.”

“Sorry.”

Lori huffs a laugh, “I don’t mind. I’ll fetch some wash rags then? And some water.”

Glover grabs his wrist as he straightens up. Lori stops. Glover doesn’t think Lori should be carrying a bucket of water by himself, he doesn’t think he should go outside to the pump, where anyone could be. He doesn’t say anything. He lets him go. 

“I’ll be right back.”

And he is, he doesn’t take long at all. Must come from his days of being a servant. He listens to Lori going down, takes a pained breath, then listens to Lori coming back up. Water sloshing everywhere. When he comes back in, he closes the door, “There’s an ash storm brewing. It’ll hit anytime now.”

Glover has managed to sit himself up, but it hurts too much to stand, he mumbles, as Lori is wetting some rags, “You shouldn’t have gone out there.”

“Hm?” Lori rings out some water, comes to his bedside again.

“Nothing.”

“Alright. This is going to sting,” Lori begins to dab his eyebrow first, and it does sting, but gentle hands chase the sting away. The water is cold, Glover watches as it drips down Lori’s wrists. Glover can’t look at him. He can hear him breathing, softer than Glovers own ragged breaths. When the rag is brown with blood, Lori gets a new one. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Glover doesn’t answer, Lori sits down beside him and starts wiping at his chest and his stomach. The cold feels nice on his bruises. When he looks down they’re mostly yellow and blue. Lori lingers at his neck, Glover tries not to focus on that too much. Lori lets the towel fall, “Can I see your hands?”

Glover gives them up without hesitation. Lori begins gently dabbing at the scabs on his knuckles. How many hits had he got on Mogrul? Despite the cold, something warm pools in his gut, as Lori touches him, as he watches Lori, unaware, chewing at his mouth. He’s wearing a long nightshirt that sticks tight to his stomach. Some water drips into his lap and reveals the skin there. Lori breathes, another brown rag, “Mostly dried blood it seems.”

He lets the rag fall. The wind picks up, heavy and coarse outside. Lori must have closed the window sometime in the night, but Glover can still smell the sea, he can still see the moonslight. No matter how much he drank last night, he was always looking at that corner. Lori looks out the window, his voice is shaky, “The ash storm will hit soon.”

Glover raises his eyes, head still hung low. Even from the side, he can see some of the red in Lori’s eyes, “Lori.”

Lori turns to him, blinking, “Why did you do that, Glover?”

Glover doesn’t answer. Lori’s hair is a mess, and his eyes are so wide. His lips are chapped.

“When I woke up, I thought you were dead. You were hardly breathing.”

Glover can only breathe, relief, sadness, both, he doesn’t know. Slowly, he raises his bloody hand to touch Lori’s cheek. Lori freezes at the contact. Glover rubs a calloused thumb under his eye, “Lori.”

And slowly, his ribs creaking and aching, and the warmth rising from his belly and into his mouth, he leans in. Lori meets him halfway.

The ash storm hits. 

-


	2. Chapter 2

They fall asleep after, curled towards each other. When Glover wakes up, he can’t see anything outside his window but the swirl of ash and hints of red sky. Everything is quiet, there’s nothing outside. The world now consists of just him and Lori. Lori wakes up just after him and smiles. Glover brushes hair behind his ear. 

Lori rolls onto his back and stretches. The sheets on the bed pool just under his chest, revealing just a bit of swell. Glovers hand falls on his chest, “What had Aphia said about appetites?”

Lori laughs and hides his face behind his hands, “I knew you’d bring that up sooner or later.”

Glover laughs, deep and hearty. The bed is small enough that they have touch, their legs are intertwined. He moves Lori’s hands away from his face and kisses the palms each. He props himself up on his elbow, the ache in his ribs a distant burn now. He feels calmer than he has in a while.

Lori rolls his head toward him, his smile faltering a little when he looks up at Glovers bruises face. Gentle, he reaches up and caresses just under Glover’s swollen eye, then trails his hand down Glover’s ribs, “What happened, Glover?”

Glover frowns, and lays down on his stomach, resting his head in his arms, “Just a bar fight that's all.”

Lori’s hand rests on his back, “I’ve never known you to get in a bar fight.”

Glover chuckles, “I’ve had my fair share of bar fights.”

“In Riften?”

“Mostly.”

Lori hums and trails his eyes over him. He moves his hand from Glover’s back and rests it on Glover’s arm instead. Glover bites at his finger, Lori laughs. His laughter draws Glover closer. 

“Glover I-I have something to tell you.

Glover kisses the hollow of his shoulder, the wind swirling, “Hm?”

“Well, awhile back, I went down into the basement to look for-”

Glover rises quickly on his hands so that he hovers over Glover, “You went down to the basement?”

Lori looks out to the window, “I needed firewood.”

“Well,” Glover tries not to sound angry, he thinks he sounds panicked instead, “Did you find it?”

Lori meets his gaze. Glover can see the ash reflected in them, “I know you were a part of the thieves guild.”

Glover shakes his head and sits up. 

“I am a part of it,” he spits, “That's not something you just leave.”

Lori doesn’t break eye contact, “Are a part of it then.”

Glover sighs and rubs his hands over his head. He needs to shave it. Lori continues, “I didn’t mean to find anything out that you didn’t want me to. I just thought there would be firewood in there, and it wasn’t locked.”

“It’s fine.” even though it isn’t, “I never told you that you couldn’t.”

“Then why do you sound so mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“I don’t mind, Glover, I really don’t.”

Maybe that's the problem. Maybe that secret was Glover’s escape card. Was Lori’s escape card. And now Lori doesn’t mind. And that says too much. 

Glover is tense, Lori traces the bruises on his ribs, coaxing him to lay back down. “How can you not care?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t, really,” he rubs at his stomach, “I know who you are now.”

“Who I am now, has a lot to do with who I was before.”

“Maybe…” Lori turns to him with a wide grin, this close Glover can see the light dust of freckles on the bridge of his nose, “I’m glad for your past if that's true.”

Glover can’t help but laugh again. He doesn’t think he’s laughed this much in years. The wind rages. He presses a kiss to Lori’s arm, then his shoulder again. He thinks maybe this is their first time if he pretends. 

“I am, ah, curious though.”

Glover hums into the crook of his neck, “Curious?”

“Well, there was a symbol down there I saw. Does that mean something? Do the thieves guild secret codes?”

Glover props himself up again, laughing, “I’d have to kill you if I told you.”

Lori laughs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back so that Glover can see the expense of his throat. Glover continues, “Yeah, we have little symbols here and there. We try to keep them a secret, it would be bad if the guards caught on. Or our enemies.”

“Hm,” Lori looks up to the ceiling, “Can you teach me some?”

“I’m the only guild member around, they won’t do you any good.”

“I’d like to learn,” Lori says, earnest, “If you’ll show me of course.”

Glover brushes some hair out of Lori’s eyes, “Well, the one you saw down there means the Guild. It means the area is safe for guild members.”

Glover moves his hand to Lori’s arm, Lori shivers as he begins tracing a slim diamond, with two circles at opposing points, “And this one means protected.”

He moved his hand to Lori’s chest, just under the collar bone. He traces a triangle with a large circle inside of it, “And this means safe.”

Lori’s breaths have gotten quicker, and his pupils are blown wide. Glover doesn’t want to think what he looks like. His voice has dropped low, bordering on quiet. He moves his hands right above Lori’s heart, he traces an upside-down triangle, draws a line through it with the pad of his thumb, and at the point, a circle. 

Lori breathes, “What does that one mean?”

Glover is already leaning over him so that their mouths brush and Lori wraps his arms around Glover’s neck. “Danger.”

And Glover kisses him, soft and impatient. He’s careful of the weight he puts on Lori, but Lori bucks his hips up, meeting his, creating fiction. Lori moans, makes nice sounds, as Glover breaks away from the kiss and begins trailing kisses down his neck, rubbing his hand down his side, and under the sheets, until Lori is gripping Glover's neck tight and pressing his forehead to his shoulder. 

And Glover is just about to pull off the sheets altogether when he hears a noise downstairs. The thief in him stops and immediately goes on guard. Lori is kissing at his neck for a second, until he perks up, “What is it?”

Glover quiets him, waiting for another noise, but he hears nothing, so he leans back down to take Lori in, but he hears a noise, louder this time. 

Someone is fiddling with the lock of the front door. 

Glover jumps up, as quietly as he can, and pulls on his trousers. Lori has heard it too, and he’s frozen on the bed, “Glover-”

“Wait here,” Glover takes the dagger he had hidden in a drawer, a long time ago, when he was still a little wary about the new area. Lori’s eyes go wide as he pulls it out. 

“Glover-”

“It’ll be fine,” Glover assures, “But lock the door behind me, just in case.”

And before he goes, he kisses Lori quickly on the forehead. Just in case. 

Mirri has a key Lori slipped her some time ago, and Cindiri Arano would never be out in an ash storm. So it’s either a wayward thief or Mogrul come to make good on his threats. Either way, Glover only has one good eye and bruised ribs, and busted-up hands. Surprise will be his only advantage though he’ll have to make it count. Lori is upstairs. 

So he quiets his footsteps, careful of each creaking floorboard. He presses his back flat beside the door, listening to the lockpick wiggle its way in. Glover waits for the click, waits for the door to open, and doesn’t even look before he jumps on the first person who steps inside. 

He blocks Glover’s dagger, knocking it to the side, but Glover manages to surprise him enough to tackle him to the ground and land on top of him. They go down in a tangle, Glover dagger knocked somewhere off to the side. But that’s fine because he has the intruder’s hands pinned to his side. All Glover needs is his fists. That’s enough. Always has been.

But when he rears up to take aim, the face under him is far too familiar, like a mirror.

“Delvin!?”

-

“What happened to your face? Run into a troll?”

Glover grunts, his arms crossed. After the initial panic and recognition, Glover had almost punched Delvin in the face after all. He had asked, “What in Oblivion are you doing here?”

Delvin had just rubbed his head where it had hit the floor, “I got your letter, of course.”

And then Glover had gone up to Lori, who was still shaking, naked in the bed. No doubt assuming the worst with all the commotion downstairs. When Glover came in he had looked to the point of tears, and Glover almost regretted not punching Delvin in the face after all. The ash storm is all but over, now. 

So the three of them sat in the living room, ignoring the toppled furniture and the ash that stuck to Delvin’s skin. Lori sat in a chair closest by the slowly building fire, in his nightgown and huddled in a heavy blanket. Opposite of him was Delvin, who despite the ash and the bump on his head and near-death experience had a smirk plastered on his face. “None of your business.”

“Of course it is,” Delvin fakes hurt, “I’m your _brother _.”__

“Half-brother.”

“Half is more than nothing. Wouldn’t you say, Lori?”

Lori jumps, “Ah, yes, I-”

“You broke into my home.”

“Yeah, well,” Delvin shrugs, “I was suffocatin’ out there. The sailor told me to wait for it to blow over, but I couldn’t handle it. Plus, their cabins smelled something awful.”

He winks at Lori who laughs a little. Glover frowns, “I was planning on stabbing you.”

Delvin waves him off, “I’ve been stabbed before. So, Lori, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Delvin Mallory.”

Delvin reaches over to shake his hand, hesitantly Lori shakes it, “Ah, Lori, just ah, Lori.”

Delvin lets his grip linger too long. Glover crosses his arms, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You, you have?”

“Delvin,” Glover cuts in, “How’d the Thieves Guild even let you go?”

“Ah, you know them. Family first.”

“And what about _Maven_.”

“She won’t even notice I’m missing.”

“How long are you planning on-”

Delvin turns back to Lori, “This’ll be my first time as an Uncle.”

Both of them stiffen, but Lori softens first. Wary, casting glances at Glover, but Glover can tell he’s more than eager to talk about it, “Well, this will be my first time as a parent.”

It’s a shy answer, but Delvin laughs heartily all the same, “How far along then?”

“Ah, well about five months.”

Delvin itches at his stubble, “Seems about right. I left as soon as I heard.”

“Oh, ah, Glover told you then.”

Glover stands to poke at the fire, turning his back to them. “Some of it. It was a detailed letter he sent.”

He can feel Lori’s smile. Delvin asks, “Are you thinkin’ boy or girl.”

“Oh, well,” Lori’s gaining confidence the longer the conversation goes, “Elves don’t really think like that you see. In terms of boy or girl I mean.”

“Huh?”

“When a child is born, no matter how they look, we refer to them as he, she, or they, until their choosing day. When they’re ten years old. Then when they’re ten, they choose how they want to be referred to as. Of course, they can change their minds at any time.”

“That’s interesting, never heard of that before. Though I guess I’ve not many elves.”

“Some don’t like to talk about it, it's private for some. But I think it needs to be explained more so that others can understand! There are a lot of problems, with misidentification, misunderstanding, and of course unexpected-” Lori stops swallowing, “-pregnancies.”

“Glover didn’t know?”

“I knew.” Glover grits out, poking at the fire into a log falls, “I live on an island of damn elves, of course, I knew.”

“Not all non-mer know. The education on the topic is hardly taught to other races but our own.” Lori jumps in, “Sorry, I well, I tend to get ahead of myself sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it. Every piece of info is good info. To a thief, this might come in handy one day.”

“How so?”

“If we need to schmooze, or blend in.”

“Is the thieves guild a-”

“Lori.” Glover gruffs, throwing another log on the fire, “The thieves guild is not a subject to ask about.”

An awkward silence settles then. Glover feels bad for it, Lori excited by what Glover had shared with him just an hour earlier. But Glover is the only one who should be sharing that information with Lori, carving secret symbols in his chest and telling him of his past. Not Delvin, who shouldn’t even be here.

“Any baby names then?”

“Oh, well…” Lori trails off, and Glover can feel eyes on his back, but he pays them no mind, 

“Vanora, I like. Enthir, or Enthi. My friend Mirra likes the name Tella. Though, it's very dunmer, sounding.”

“Fine names, fine names.” Glover watches the fire crackle, “No Nord names? I-”

“Why,” Glover spits, whipping around, “Would there be Nord names?”

Delvin blinks at him from his seat, Glover’s satisfied to see his smirk gone. Lori gets up from his seat, “Excuse me, Delvin, I’m a bit tired today.”

Delvin frowns, “Right, well it was nice meeting you.”

“You as well,” Lori nods, then turns his head away from Glover, cradling his stomach in his palm. He carefully walks upstairs, and both Glover and Delvin watch him go. 

When he’s gone, Delvin’s eyes meet his with such force that Glover steps away from the fire, “Of all the idiots in the whole of Tamriel.”

“What?”

“You’re a right bastard.”

“What in Oblivion did I do now!”

“You haven’t claimed the child?” Delvin stands from his seat, whispering harshly so that Lori won’t hear him. “What is he doing here then?”

Glover pushes past him to start picking up the toppled furniture, “I thought I told you in the letter, why he’s leaving here.”

Glover heaves up a knocked-over end table. Delvin follows him, “You told me a lot of things in your letter.”

“You never read my letters!” Glover yells as the end table sits upright.

“I read them, I don’t reply.”

“And you call me a bastard.”

Glover bends down to pick up the fallen bowls and books on the floor. Delvin helps, “You need me here more than I thought.”

Glover straightens up, “I don’t need you here. You weren’t invited.”

Delvin hands him a book, _Bone_ , “Why should that matter?”

“You’re sleeping on the floor.”

-

The day after the ash storm, Cindiri Arano comes to their home. She knocks prim and proper exactly three times, and that's how Glover knows it's her because apparently, no one else in his life knocks. 

It's dinner. Glover’s stabbing his dinner rather than eating it, listening to Delvin and Mirri chatter while Lori adds shy agreements and laughter. Mirri and Delvin took to each other immediately, though Mirri throws daggers at him more than she does Glover. Glover just thinks they bond making him uncomfortable and irritated. 

In a twisted way, he’s glad when Cindiri sticks his nose up at him all the same. Glover offers her his seat at the table. She gives him a tight thank you. “Lori, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Hm? Has something happened Missus Arano?”

“Quite a lot.” and then she switches, her voice going smoother, “ _Os urad ohuhm pedhir sut lo ascif_.”

Lori blinks, his ears twitch upwards, his accent jumbling the swiftness of dunmeri, “ _Ju’it_?”

“ _As hagil Severin ekilam mumae_.”

Mirri adds, mouth full, “ _En makhel_.”

Cindiri shoots her a glare, “ _Os urad ohn de baldefud sut lo_.”

Lori goes pink, “ _Er os_ -

“ _Ka’elm as hla’jule yaglad ohuhn harid-n telsad bahrlom_ ,” Cindiris words sound bulky to Glover’s ears, but she speaks them with natural elegance, her tongue not faltering once, “ _Ohn adur as opumelu am shakhahns, as busad aln bahrbaldif am ley’lehjii. Os khamir tokhid ku’ilm lakhad sut_.”

“ _Er_ -”

Cindiri side eyes Glover, “ _Eri ohuhn daelheg_ -”

“No!” Lori jumps, “Ah no, it’s not that.”

“What then?”

“I just have to think about it is, all,” Lori tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Hmph,” Cindiri crosses arms, “Whatever you say, but I won’t be waiting forever.”

“Of course, Missus Arano. Bread?”

“Yes, please thank you.”

Glover blinks, watching Lori handing over a piece of bread. Cindiri takes it with only two fingers and eats it like she’s sipping tea. Glover tries not to roll his eyes. “And who is the other Nord, then?”

“Oh, that’s Glover’s brother. Delvin, he got here a week or so ago.”

Cindiri hums, “Seems one Nord attracts them all.”

“There’s only two of us here Cindiri.”

“Again with first names!” Cindiri yelps, “I’m beginning to think you’re doing it on purpose.”

“I don’t work for you.”

Mirri kicks him under the table, Glover glares at her. Delvin says, “I doubt any Nord will want to follow me over here. Nice ones that is.”

Cindiri drops her bread, “And what does that mean? Is Raven Rock so terrible to the Nords?”

“Of course not, Madame. Nords are just terrible to me.”

Cindiri seems placated by that, taking a small bite of bread, “Hm, at least one Mallory has manners. Really of all the men in the world…”

Glover shoves food in his mouth so that he doesn’t reply. He’d like to tell her about all the times Delvin hasn’t had manners, but when he looks over at Lori he has stars in his eyes looking over at Cindiri, and though she tries to hide it with sneers, and a sharp tongue, she looks at him the same way.

So Glover offers to get her some ash yam and doesn’t even think of spitting in it. 

Lori asks, “Ah, well, may I ask you a question, Missus Arano.”

“What?”

Lori purses his lips, “Well we’re having a feast for First Planting, I was wondering, well, we were, would you like to come?”

Cindiri sticks her nose up, “Isn’t that for farmers?”

Lori falters, Mirri snaps, “No! It’s for new beginnings!”

Cindiri blinks, something softer on her shoulders, “Well. I’ve hardly ever celebrated something like _that_ before.”

Glover thinks it a dismissal, but Lori is smiling all the same.   
-

It was the guilt that convinced Glover to hold the First Planting feast in their home. Guilt and Lori. For Glover, those are one and the same. 

He blames Mirri for the idea, and later Delvin for encouraging it, and now belly filled on venison, and stew, and leeks, and ash yam, and just a bit of spiced wine, he blames everyone trespassing in his living room for accepting their invitations. Though he can hardly blame them, between Lori’s dough eyes and Mirri’s daggers, they would be hard-pressed to say no. 

Aphia Velothi and her husband Crestius came having a very spirited talk with Mirri, who is most likely drunk. On the other side of the room, Delvin and a few of the miners Lori knows in passing are circled in discussion, if Glover didn’t know any better, he would say Delvin is flirting with all of them at once. Glover sits in a corner, sipping at his spiced wine, between Lori and Cindiri who are talking about books. 

“What is so interesting about _The Changed Ones_ is that Trinimac and Boethiah are both shown to be liars, so the author, whoever they are, is criticizing religion altogether. Basing it on lies. Trinimac had their people cry for their Gods, while Boethiah taught them how to be useful for their Gods. And it was the people, who, unknowingly or not, chose the lie they liked the most.” 

“I agree, that’s most likely why they chose to remain anonymous, they are incredibly ahead of their time,” Cindiri says, sipping at her black-briar mead, “Just writing it is, incredibly brave, but also stupid.”

Glover hadn’t accepted her to show up, but she had, hours early while Lori and Glover were still cooking. Glover had been teaching Lori how to make apple dumplings, with an arm secured around his waist, Lori turning pink. He had been upset at the interruption. Lori would call him grumpy. But for a woman who's so obsessed with manners, Cindiri doesn’t seem to take a lot of stock in them. 

“Oh, but isn’t that something,” Lori says, dreamily, leaning over Glover with a hand on his knee, “Bravery is stupidity, and stupidity is brave. Sometimes to get the rewards, you can’t be smart about the costs. I think it's all so….hm...profound really.”

“In this author's case, I would not say the rewards are beneficial.”

“Well, maybe the author’s rewards are just sharing his thoughts with everyone, just the sharing, not the gaining or losing.”

“And this,” Cindiri trills, “Is why you must come work for me again! The new one can not keep up discussions.”

Lori’s ears turn scarlet, “Oh, I’m still not sure Missus Arano, with, well, I’ll be awfully busy.”

“I do not mind _babies_ , Lori, bring the thing along.”

“Well, it’s not just-”

“Lori!” Delvin is suddenly standing over him, a group of laughing miners behind him, “Why didn’t ya tell me there are elven dances!”

Lori smiles, “Well, you never asked.”

“Never asked-!" 

“You have to teach me!”

Lori ducks his head, “Mirri is much better at them.”

“Aye, maybe, but if I ask her she’ll cut off my jewels!” he laughs grabbing, Lori’s wrists and gently pulls Lori up. Lori's stomach is getting bigger, and Glover doesn’t like it when he gets jostled around too much. He pulls them to the center of the room.

Glover takes a large gulp of his spiced wine, cringing a little at the burn. He watches, trying not to openly scowl, as Lori and Delvin laugh. Lori brings his wrist up between them, and after a second, Delvin brings his up too, so that they are brought together. Then they go in gentle circles, pulling into each other's shoulders. Delvin stumbles, while Lori holds his stomach, pink and pretty. The miner’s clap. 

Cindiri says beside him, “How you allow it, I will never know! Simply ill-mannered!”

“Allow what?” Glover grits as Lori steps back from Delvin and raises his arms like a bird. Glover rips his eyes from them to put his full attention on Cindiri. Her seat is the closest the fire, and her makes her face burns orange. 

“Such dancing! It’s intimate, and to do so with your brother’s lover! If I did so my husband would be pulling out his sword!”

“He’s not my lover or my husband.”Maybe Glover does want to pull out his sword, or at least his wood ax, but he’d never say so, “It’s just harmless dancing.”

“Hmph, maybe to _Nords_.”

“And what does that mean?”

She doesn’t hesitate, quick as a viper, “Nords are careless and they stumble far too often.”

“You’re a wretched woman,” Glover says, low enough so no one, Lori will hear. He keeps going before she can squawk, “How Lori puts up with you…..it’s already earned him a spot in whatever blissful afterlife you people believe in.”

And finally, she’s silent. No more complaining or judgment. Lori is bringing his palms together with Delvins. Glover finishes his wine and his face heats up. When she looks over at her again, she has her head facing down at her lap, where her fingers pluck at her wedding ring. If he wasn’t so annoyed, he’d almost feel bad, but that pity doesn’t last long.

“ _You people_ …” she starts, “Fetcher, look around you. These are your people, why you continue to deny it is beyond me.”

Glover sniffs, shuffling in his seat. Moving his head from her, “I don’t deny anything.”

And it feels wrong in his mouth, but he doesn’t like losing, and he doesn’t like being beat or forced. She rolls her eyes, “Please. Anyone from High Rock to Black Marsh could see the way Lori avoids his pregnancy around you, how you force him to.”

Glover slams his tankard down, he grabs her arm, “Don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about.”

“I know what I’m talking about,” she spits, “It’s you who doesn't know anything. About Raven Rock, Lori, even about yourself. Of all the pathetic things in the world, fetcher. Some choices you should not wait to make, and there are some people you should not wait to love.”

Glover sucks in a breath and sneers, watching her snarl at him. But then there are loud footsteps, and something crashes, before Delvin shouts, for all to hear, “These elven dances are two slow! Let me show you how a real Nord dance, eh?”

Glover and Cindiri both turn away from each other, to watch Delvin place a hand on Lori’s hip, then intertwine their other fingers, before Delvin begins twirling him around, wherever he can find the space. He begins singing Ragnar the Red at the top of his lungs

_Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red  
Who came riding to Whiterun from old Rorikstead_

Glover huffs, and stands, letting go of his bruising grip on Cindiris arm. Before he walks away he says, he leans over and says, intimidating as possible, “I don’t want you here again, do you hear me.”

_And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade  
As he told of bold battles and gold he had made_

“If Lori wishes that.”

“If Lori-” he gets in her face, “This my home!”

_But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red  
When he met the shieldmaiden, Matilda, who said:_

“If this was your home, it would be empty and cold and quiet.”

_"Oh you talk, and you lie, and you drink all our mead  
Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed"_

Glover turns away from her then, unable to look in her eyes, like mirrors. All he could see was his own angry face. He rubs a hand down his face before moving quickly to catch Delvin and Lori, who twirl and stumble around the room. Tripping over furniture, to the applause of confused elves. Glover grabs Delvin’s shoulder midverse

“And so then came clashing and slashing of steel-” he stops, arms still around Lori, “Huh? What is it?”

Everyone else goes silent too, which somehow makes Glover angry, “You’re being too rough with him?”

“Huh?” Delvin itches his head, but he still has a hand on Lori’s waist, “I am? Sorry, Lori, didn’t realize-”

“Oh, it’s fine!” Lori twirls his hands in front of him, “If you were being too rough, Aphia would have said something. She’s my healer!”

Delvin turns back to look at Aphia in the corner who shrugs in response. Delvin grins, “Right then! Where were we-”

Delvin grabs Lori’s hand, spins him around so that Lori pushes into Glover's chest, “ _As the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal_ ,-!”

Glover growls, “I said that's enough!”

And he breaks them apart, separating Lori from Delvin with his arm, Delvin stumbles backward, “This is _my_ house! _My_ living room, _my_ floor! If I don’t want you dancing, then you’re not going to dance!”

Something tense fills the air as Glover shouts, but Delvin pays it no mind, he smirks again, “If you wanted to dance with him you could have just said.”

Delvin shrugs, moving around him to pour himself some ale. Glover’s anger isn’t quelled, “I want everyone out.”

Lori is still at his arm, no one moves, instead, they don’t even look at him but at Lori. “I said get out! The feast is over, we’ve been done eating for hours!”

The miners flee first, Crescius motioning them out the door. He thinks Cindiri is smiling as she leaves, and Aphia reminds Lori of his appointments as if nothing is wrong. And maybe nothing is wrong, or maybe everything is wrong. Maybe one day his house started filling like a flood until Glover couldn’t breathe anymore. Maybe that's the problem, the drowning and liking it, despite the burn in his lungs, and the fear of everything that comes after. Glover can’t stand it.

Soon it’s only Mirri and Delvin left, and of course Lori. Lori has a soft grip on his arm, as Glover stares down Mirri who has her head raised high, “If it were anyone else, Mallory, anyone else-”

“Mirri,” Lori cuts in, voice unbreakable in its calm, “You can’t be late going home.”

Her eyes go wide, “But Lori-”

“It’s fine, Mirri,” he tightens his grip on Glover’s arm, “It really is fine.”

She shakes her head, chewing on her cheek, “It’s not fine Lori! It’s not fine at all.”

But she leaves all the same, always at Lori’s beck and call. It’s not until she leaves, that Lori lets go of his arm. When Glover turns to look at him, his head is ducked.

“Lori-” Glover starts, reaching his hand to his cheek, but Lori pushes his wrist away. 

“It’s fine, Glover. It’s all fine.” but his voice is shaking, “Never mind any of it, never mind it.”

And finally, just as Glover sees tears drip down his cheek, Lori pushes past him and runs up the stairs. 

He’s not angry anymore. He’s not sure why he was angry in the first place. If he was angry at all. 

Delvin finishes his drink, slaps his shoulder, “You’re a mean thief.”

Glover rubs his hands over his head, he needs to shave. What did he steal?

-

First Seed passes by in a swift manner, and things begin to get warmer. The ice on the beach starts to break.

Lori is six months now, his stomach like a globe. Sometimes when he thinks Glover isn’t around, or not paying attention, he’ll talk to his stomach, and laugh a little. Glover thinks there's movement, now. Lori and Mirri go on more walks, and Lori has begun to visit Cindiri almost every day, coming home with more and more books. Glover doubts he missed their fight at the feast. 

Their only visitors now are Mirri, who ignores Glover whenever she can, and speaks only in Dunmeri. Delvin sometimes disappears for days, but he always comes back to take his bed by the fire. He thinks Delvin is teaching Lori about the thieves guild behind his back, with how quiet Lori has gotten. 

Glover can’t help but think he’s missing something. 

Still, they have their quiet meals, and Lori comes out to visit him in the shop. They just don’t talk about their day in bed, or about books, or their pasts, really they don’t talk about anything at all. 

They sit and read by the fire, but Glover doesn’t read, he watches the way Lori’s eyelashes fall against his cheeks and the way he talks his hair behind his ear before turning a page. 

“Lori,” he says suddenly, a little desperately.

“Hm?”

But Glover doesn’t have anything to say, he can’t think of anything he’s willing to say. He wants to tell Lori about how he looked in the corner of the tavern, but he won’t. He rubs his hand over his head, he needs to-

“Would you like me to shave your head?”

“What?”

Lori turns sheepish, casting his eyes toward the fire, “I just noticed you're always pushing back your hair, is all.”

“Oh, uh, alright.”

And so Lori brings a bucket of water, and rags and Glover hands him a sharp knife and a pair of shears. They bring the chair so that it's close enough to the fire to see, but not so close that Lori might burn himself when he walks around the chair. Glover is left looking out a window watching bits of ash fall from the sky, swirling in the wind illuminated by moonslight. Lori’s fingers begin carding through his hair, it’s long enough now, to get a firm grasp on. Glover has never let it get this long before. 

Lori begins cutting. 

Some hair falls into Glover’s hands on his lap, Glover brushes it away, “Lori.”

“Hm?

“Do you know Slitter?”

“Slitter?” Lori is quiet for a moment, the sound of hair being cut fills the room, “We used to be something of childhood friends, but we grew apart after he started working for Mogrul.”

“Does he owe you anything?”

“Not that I know of,” Lori’s voice sounds far away, “Why?”

Glover doesn’t want to answer, but Lori’s fingers are so gentle in his hair, brushing his shoulders. Glover is slouched over himself, afraid to lean back, not knowing what he’ll do if he finds all that warmth there, “He brought me back, the night, uh at the Retch.”

“Oh.”

“He said it was a favor to you.” he intertwines his fingers then separates them.

“Sometimes…” the scissors are replaced by the knife, “Sometimes we don’t do things out of debt, you know.”

“What other reasons are there?”

Lori pauses, for a moment, “When we were younger, Slitter, Mirri, and I used to go out swimming in the early morning, and watch the sunrise on the waves. I was afraid of the ocean, then, because of my parents, so Mirri and Slitter used to stay in the shallow end, even though I knew they’d prefer the deep end a lot more. But I never said anything, because I really was afraid of the water, and I guess I didn’t want to be left behind. Well, one day, Mirri couldn’t come because she had lessons, or she was in trouble or something like that. But Slitter and I still went swimming.”

“I had thought Slitter had only stayed in the shallow end because Mirri stayed too. So I was surprised when he stayed, wading where our feet could touch. I couldn’t figure it out. Eventually, I told him that I thought he would want to go out into the deep end and that it's fine if he did. But he just looked as surprised as I was. He said, well, why would I want to go out there if you’re here?”

Lori laughs a little at the end, his breaths reaching Glover's neck. Glover doesn’t understand why Lori told him that. Lori keeps shaving away in silence, focusing on not cutting Glover. And Glover doesn’t want to ruin the quiet, the feeling of Lori’s hand on his head. 

Eventually, Lori begins moving around him, shaving his sides, around his ears, until eventually, he comes in front of Glover. And the smell of him, the warmth of him, forces Glover to look up, “Are you still afraid of the ocean?”

“No,” Lori’s hands glide over his head, his voice quiet, “No, I’m not.”

Glover’s eyes droop back down to Lori’s stomach. He places a hand on Lori’s waist, careful of the swell, and under his palm, he can feel Lori shiver. And somehow, Glover is terrified, “Lori-”

“What am I to you Glover?”

The question send Glover reeling back, though his hand stays on Lori’s waist, “What?”

“What am I to you?” Lori’s voice is shaking, though he’s not breaking eye contact, “What do you feel for me?”

“I, well-”

“Am I your roommate? Am I your friend? Am I your lover? Am I just the other parent to your-”

“Lori!” he shouts, pushing away, “By the nines, stop!”

Lori does, his mouth closes tight. Glover turns his eyes away, finally dropping his hand from Lori’s waist. Glover bows his head, ashamed. Lori goes back to cutting his hair. It is not quiet, but silent. Cold and lonely, even the wind does not move outside, and the moon is hidden by a cloud. 

Lori carefully scrapes the blade across Glover’s head, taking deep breaths, until he says, “Missus Arano offered me a room in her manor.”

Glover whips his head up so fast, that Lori barely has time to take the knife away, “What?”

Lori’s eyes move to a corner, “She offered a room so that I can better serve her. She’d also help with the baby.”

Glover can only blink at him, he thinks he looks silly, with his mouth wide open. Lori drops the dagger to his side, his other hand coming to rub at his stomach. Glover can only watch as Lori sets the blade down, then wets a rag, and begins cleaning the shaving cream off of Glover’s head. 

Glover does not take his eyes off him once, as Lori glides the rag over his head, then at the back of his neck, then down his cheek, though he does not need to. He says, “I’m finished now, Glover.”

But Glover grabs his wrist, and they are close enough that Glover could pull Lori onto his lap so that they can look nowhere but at each other, “You can stay here.”

Lori’s voice breaks, “No, I cant.”

“Why not?”

Lori sniffs, there are tears welling in his eyes, “I said I wouldn’t force you Glover, and I won’t. But the child will be here soon, and you won’t even mention them. You act like it's not even happening.”

“Lori, I-” he stands suddenly so that he looms over Lori, but he never lets go of Lori’s wrist. The rag drips water down their arms, “I can mention it.”

“Glover-”

“If you want me to claim the child, I will. It was inevitable anyway right? I’ll claim the child.” Glover sounds pathetic, even to his own ears. Lori’s looking at him with wide eyes, but Glover’s too scared to see the fear there, the sadness, “I’ll stay out of your way, and you can throw as many feasts as you want. So-”

“Glover!” Lori yells, ripping his hand away, “Stop, please!”

Glover is stunned, Lori has never yelled before. Not even when Glover has hurt him, when he’s been hurt. 

“Do you want the child, Glover?” Lori squeezes the rag, “Do you even want me to stay?”

“Lori, I-”

Lori shakes his head, steps further away from Glover, “I’ve let this go on for too long. I thought, I thought- the child will be here soon, Glover, they’ll be here very soon! And I don’t want them to wait like I am! Like I’ve been waiting. I want them to be your first choice! I want to be your first choice!”

The rag falls, Lori begins wiping at his eyes, “I’ll be moving into Missus Arano’s in a day’s time. If you change your mind about the child, I, I won’t keep you from them, but I can’t live this way anymore Glover. I just can’t.”

And Lori is looking at him so earnestly, with tears trailing down his cheeks. How many times has he made Lori cry? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. Lori looks so pretty crying or laughing. Pink in the cold, or pink by the fire. Sitting alone in the corner of the tavern, singing to an unborn child. Before Glover can think, he swoops in, grabbing Lori’s shoulders, and kisses him. Deep and hard, so that Lori is pushed back, just a little more. 

Lori shoves him away, so that Glover stumbles back, almost tripping over the chair. His head is cold, freezing. The fire reflects in Lori’s eyes when he looks at him, framed by the moonslight. Glover doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him so full of hatred before. 

“You’re so cruel.” he sobs, but his voice is harder than anything, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so cruel.”

Then he runs upstairs. 

By morning, he’s already gone.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I ignored a lot of stuff, but eh, creative license.


End file.
